


Stay Drunk and Keep Fucking

by moodymarshmallow



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Time, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 03:16:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/426344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodymarshmallow/pseuds/moodymarshmallow





	1. Chapter 1

This wasn’t the sort of bar that Theron would normally go to. Actually, he wasn’t much for bars at all. He liked drinking at home, opening a bottle of wine and trying to decide whether he wanted to nurse one glass or figure out whether he was a drinker or a functional alcoholic. Maybe he’d read a bit, or listen to music. Either way, it would be a peaceful night.

This…this was not peaceful. The bar, called “Antiva,” whatever that meant, had started fairly quiet, but as a crowd slowly filtered in, the noise had grown to a cacophonous buzz. The dance floor was crammed with half-naked, half-drunk patrons, swaying rhythmically to pounding music, reminding him of how very little he liked this sort of scene. But he’d locked himself out of his flat, and neither a locksmith nor the manager of his building could be found. So he went for a walk, found a bar, and here he was, wearing a plain button-down and black slacks when everyone else was dressed in party clothes.

The drinks were cheap, at least, and the scenery wasn’t bad. The pretty bartender who’d brought him his Long Island Iced Tea had been replaced by a man in a tank top with long blond hair. He had this perfect caramel tan, offset by black, swirling sleeve tattoos on each arm. He was just as nice to look at as the woman before him, so much so that Theron didn’t bother flagging him down when his glass was empty, preferring instead to watch the new bartender put on a little show while he made drinks for others, spinning bottles, shaking mixers, and winkingly sliding tips into his pocket. He was staring. After handing a martini to a woman in a sleeveless black dress, the bartender turned his attention on Theron and strolled over to his end of the bar.

“I have been neglecting you, I see,” he said in a thick Spanish accent, leaning in so closely to Theron that even with the din of people and music he could hear the click of a tongue piercing on his teeth. He smelled expensive and clean, like good cologne and salon hair product. “Next time, call for me when your glass is empty. I am Zevran, Zev, to my friends.” He picked up the empty glass and dropped it into a bin under the bar. “Tell me, do you have someone waiting for you at home?”

“Excuse me?” Theron’s brows shot up into his hairline as he watched the bartender wipe down the marble surface in front of him. Those tattoos were on his shoulders too, and his hands. That much work must have cost a fortune.

“Well, I was thinking that you might like one of our specialty drinks, but…we call it a “Desire Demon” for a reason. I would not want for you to keep someone waiting all night because you found yourself so enamored with a handsome face that you couldn’t bring yourself to leave. It is a very dangerous drink, in that regard.” Zevran grinned toothily, giving Theron an appraising glance that was so obvious that Theron laughed, putting a hand to his mouth to try and cover it.  

“There’s nobody waiting,” he admitted, the corner of his lips quirking into a small smile. “Besides, I locked myself out of my flat.”

“Oh, you poor thing.” Zevran flashed him an admirable pout. “Let me make you a drink, yes? It will not open your doors, but perhaps it will make you forget about them.” Theron nodded, then watched Zevran’s tank top rise over his taut, tattooed stomach as he stretched to grab a glass from above the bar. It was nice to have something to focus on, it narrowed his field of vision and made the place seem a little less loud and raucous. Zevran placed the drink in front of him when he was done. It was a vaguely purple thing, garnished with a cherry, that smelled like rum and some kind of tropical fruit.

“How will I know when it starts working?” Theron handed the cost, plus a few dollars in tip, to Zevran, not surprised when the bartender’s hand lingered on his a little.  

“I usually know it has had an effect when I see someone giving me that ‘I wonder what he’s like in bed,’ stare. But since you’re already looking at me that way…who knows?” Zevran pocketed the money with an infectious smile.

“Do you flirt with everyone this heavily?” Theron asked, putting the drink to his lips. It was less sweet than he thought it would be, with a tangy, pomegranate aftertaste.

“Perhaps I do!” Zevran laughed, leaning on the bar. “Perhaps it makes for better tips. Or, perhaps I have learned that quiet, straight-laced men tend to be a lot more fun than they would let you think they are.”

“I’m not sure that applies to me,” Theron said through the glass, glancing as a woman came up behind him to get Zevran’s attention.

“That remains to be seen, I think. If you are here at last call, perhaps we can find out.” With that, the bartender turned his attention to the customers he had been ignoring, leaving Theron with his drink. It wasn’t half bad, really. There was coconut in there, somewhere, and after finishing it, Theron came to the realization that there was a good deal more booze in there than he’d first assumed. It made time go faster, made his head a little fuzzy and foolish, as if it was his first time with alcohol. It was nice, so he ordered another and tried to decide whether or not the specialty lived up to its name.


	2. Chapter 2

Last call was one in the morning. A little earlier than most places, but by half past twelve most people had filtered out anyway. The wait staff was down to a skeleton crew, and it wasn’t until Theron started to leave that he got another glimpse of Zevran. He smiled at him, slightly, thinking that he was making too much out of a little harmless flirtation. He changed his mind when the bartender swung himself over the marble counter and met him in the middle of the room. He was a little taller and slimmer than Theron had thought, and walked with an air of purpose, steel-toed boots loud in the emptying bar.

“So, do I call you Zevran, or Zev?” Theron felt a little heady, a little woozy in the best way when Zevran wrapped an arm around his shoulder and began leading him to the parking lot. This wasn’t like him; he didn’t flirt with strangers and wait up past midnight for them. He certainly didn’t get on the back of motorcycles in his work clothes, wearing someone else’s helmet, pressing his face into their shoulder for the entire ride. He didn’t let strangers take him home and push him up against the front door when they got inside. Theron wasn’t quite sure who he was right now. Maybe he was someone appealing, or maybe someone easy enough to have a one night stand with a guy just because he was attractive and showed interest.

“I told you, it’s a dangerous drink.” Zevran’s lips were on his ear, hot and distracting. He barely felt the hand unbuttoning his shirt. “Here we are, and I don’t even know your name.” Theron told him, loving that little smile, loving the whorls of black tattoo on his chest once the tank top came off, loving the taste of him when they kissed. Zevran must have been sampling the goods behind the bar; his mouth had this smoky, earthy taste, like scotch or whiskey, and Theron liked it. Once he got over the little niggling hang-ups in the back of his mind, there wasn’t anything not to like. He’d probably wake up with a hangover and a mouthful of regret, but right now, there were wet lips and a tongue studded with a little metal ball to keep him occupied.

Theron didn’t really get a good look at the place. It was fairly clean, he could tell that much, but when Zevran grabbed him by a belt loop and started dragging him to the bedroom, he couldn’t make himself care about his surroundings. He’d remember the bed though; it was bigger than it seemed like it needed to be, king size at least, and it was soft, with nice fabric and good, overstuffed pillows. When he sat down on the edge to take off his shoes, Zevran climbed onto him, tugging off his shirt and tossing it to the side. Then he just looked at him for a minute with an intensity that Theron found uncomfortable. So he reached up to touch him, tracing the line of his jaw to his neck, down the lean muscles in his shoulders and back until he dug his nails in, pulling him closer, rising to meet him halfway. It was amazing how well he fit, how that crook between shoulder and neck was just the right size for Theron to bury his face in, how Zevran’s tongue slid so easily into his mouth, and how he seemed to know exactly how Theron wanted to be touched. It was all too good, too familiar, like reuniting with a old lover rather than fucking some guy from a bar.

Theron wanted to ask him about the tattoos, about the stud in his tongue and the ring in his belly button, wanting to know if it was the pain he liked or just the aftermath. Instead he nipped his neck, tugged his hair a bit, and dug his nails in deeper. The rough shudder and tightening grip told him everything he wanted to know. He liked that they didn’t need words; he wasn’t any good at them anyway. Not that he would have considered himself good at this; he wasn’t experienced enough with using his tongue and his cock instead of his brain to claim that. Maybe Zevran could tell. Maybe that was why he held him down by his wrists and sucked round, red marks into his neck, or why he whispered filthy, ridiculous questions and took a hiss or a groan as an answer.

It felt like it took too long for their pants to come off. Enough time passed for sweat to start beading in his hairline and for every touch to make him ache and grind himself shamelessly against the tan, tattooed, and gorgeous man holding him down. Zev’s jeans came off first, even though he had those ridiculous boots to remove. He was fast; Theron only managed to kick off his shoes by the time Zevran was stripped down to boxer briefs. As Zevran unzipped his work slacks and pulled them over his hips, Theron realized that they wore the same kind of underwear. Not just the same brand, but the same style and color even. There was something ridiculous about that, yet it was kind of endearing to think that with all the differences there was something that insignificant, that basic, that they had in common.

Then there was Theron’s tattoo, which Zevran discovered while toying with the waistband of his underwear. It was small and insignificant compared to Zevran’s full-body work, but it was there, a Celtic knot on his hip, bright red in stark contrast to white skin that seemed even paler when Zevran’s hand covered it.

“I wouldn’t have guessed you’d have a tattoo.” Zevran fondly traced the pattern with one finger. Whether he was appreciating the artistry or the proximity to the sparse trail of red hair on his stomach, Theron couldn’t tell, but the chuckle and the breathy whisper of the word “redheads,” clarified.

Then Zev’s lips were on him, working their way down, mouthing cock through cotton and making him realize that he could feel that metal stud even through the fabric. He’d always heard…things…about people with tongue piercings, but never gave it much thought before this. Not that he could give it much thought now—not when he could glance down to see that blond hair splayed on his stomach and feel the elastic stretching as, finally, his underwear came off and joined the rest of the discarded clothes in a heap on the floor. He shifted as Zevran slid his arms under his thighs, settling between his legs in a manner that could only be described as content.

He had a marvelous mouth. It wasn’t the piercing, although Theron wasn’t sure he’d ever get over the novelty of that, he simply had a talented tongue. He bet that he was one of those guys who could tie cherry stems in his mouth, or at least curl his tongue into a cylinder shape. Theron’s brain went strange places when he was getting head. He tried to ignore it.

Reaching down, he pushed back Zevran’s hair, wanting to watch.  

“God, I hope I’m not drunk enough to forget this in the morning.”

Theron only realized he said that out loud when Zevran chuckled in his throat. The low rumble vibrated in the nicest way around Theron’s cock, and he grabbed a fistful of the blanket as his body twisted at the sensation. Zevran’s hands were on his hips now, holding them still while he took his cock deeper into his mouth, allowing Theron no control of the pace or depth. That was for the best. Theron didn’t really trust his own body right now. Where was all that noise coming from, for starters? He didn’t remember ever burying his face into pillows that smelled like the best cologne and just  _groaning_ like that before. Maybe that drink deserved its name, or maybe it was just Zevran and his ridiculous tongue.

When he came, it was into that hot mouth, with his body pinned to the mattress by arms that didn’t seem like they ought to be that strong. He rode it out while cussing, screwing his eyes shut and wanting the whole goddamned world as everything tightened up and released. Then there was that beautiful, blissful, perfect moment where he wasn’t himself anymore, where he wasn’t anything more than pile of nerves and sweat and profound exhaustion.

When it passed, Zevran was on him again, nuzzling and kissing, wearing the smuggest little smirk Theron had ever seen. He kissed him back, tasting slick salt on top of the whiskey smoke and liking how dirty it was.

Theron couldn’t stop touching him, he snaked a hand between them and found Zev’s cock, heavy and hard against his stomach. He buried the other hand in his hair, kissed him and stroked him, trying not to think about what a nice size he was and just how good it would feel to get on his lap and  _fucking ride_ _._  He wasn’t sure he had the strength to sit up though, which made that idea less than feasible. He felt Zevran close a hand over his, lacing their fingers around his cock. That was a weird bit of intimacy, more so than the kissing, somehow.

“Look at me.” Theron used the fist full of Zevran’s hair to tilt his head, wanting to see those coffee-and-milk eyes, wondering what was in them while he was fucking their hands. Their gaze met for this brief half-second, then Zevran’s snapped away. He wouldn’t look.  _Oh._  That was interesting. Something was being hidden. Theron bit Zev’s lower lip and tugged it, giving him a little bit of viciousness instead of tenderness, because apparently the latter was not desired.

It worked. Zevran groaned throatily as he came, saying something in Spanish that Theron could not identify, rocking into their hands for a minute longer before letting go and resting his weight on Theron. They laid like that for a while, sticky and sweaty, coming down from the high until Theron nodded off, feeling warmer and more satisfied than he had in the longest time.


End file.
